


Abacus

by Huff_Puff



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: AU, Adult Dipper Pines, Bill Cipher Being Bill Cipher, Bill is a flirt, Bill is a jerk, BillDip, Cyberpunk, Dipper Pines-centric, Dipper is a badass, Futuristic, Human Bill Cipher, Legit he is a real human not a demon, M/M, Older Dipper Pines, Older Mabel Pines, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, POV Dipper Pines, Supportive Mabel Pines, previously under FilthyMallards
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-25
Updated: 2016-02-21
Packaged: 2018-04-17 04:51:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 17,153
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4653012
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Huff_Puff/pseuds/Huff_Puff
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the virtual cyberspace of Abacus, Dipper Pines is tasked with tracking down only the most dangerous of criminals and fugitives - a cyber cop if there ever was one; but when a new criminal suddenly surfaces and flips the playing field, Abacus becomes something more than just a virtual cyberspace for the underbelly of the nation. Dangerous paths lead to dangerous revelations, and two worlds blend into one. One thing is for certain; in the world of Abacus, there is no one you can trust.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Neophobia

Connections connecting with connections – brain bashing brain, neuron knocking neuron, symphony staging symphony.  

This was the world of _Abacus_ – an intercommunicative network that allowed persons of all race, age, and intelligence to correspond with one another from one side of the world to the other at a fraction of a second – 0.000012, to be exact. A digital world that was forever changing, forever mouldable, and forever innovative.

Mabel lived in Cognition. It was her place within the digital world – the binary for creativity and imagination. It took a lot for him to handle visiting her in Cognition, when he was Asleep. The phosphorescent pinks and resplendent reds burned into his eyes, and sometimes he seriously worried about her mental state (especially when horses with horse bodies for heads became a current occurrence in her Domain in _Abacus_ ) – but she loved it in Cognition. It was the perfect place for someone like her, who embraced all things optimistic and crazy and happy.

Their great uncle Stan (who, believe it or not, was still kicking it) didn’t really understand what all this _Abacus_ business was about, and hadn’t been all too interested in it until they had introduced him to Expedient – the side of _Abacus_ reserved for those with dubious morals and Machiavellian qualities.

He’d very quickly taken to money laundering, which really didn’t surprise him – though of course, if anyone were to ask him if he knew who _Moneyring618_ was, he’d deny it so fast they’d probably get whiplash (because government officials were definitely _not_ meant to hide evidence that linked to one of the biggest money smugglers in the country).

As the Behavioral Analyst and Technical Administrator for the Presidium of Defense, he didn’t get the luxury of spending much time in Recondite - at least, not the side of Recondite that he would have preferred to spend his time in.

No; as the PD’s BA and TA, he got to dive a little bit deeper into _Abacus_ , and a little bit deeper into Recondite.

Recondite; little known. Abstruse. The biggest harbourer of the eerie and the unknown in _Abacus._ Hidden in its depths, under layers and layers of coding lived another part of Recondite – a part of _Abacus_ that belonged to hired assassins, and arms dealers – murderers and occultists. The UnderWeb. The people that dealt within the system were the worst of the worst – criminals so deadly that even most trained professionals had trouble taking them down. They were people so dangerous that they were feared, when both Awake and Asleep.

Some were fugitives of the law – heck, _most_ were fugitives of the law.

Others though…others were like _him._

He, Dipper Pines, was just one of several members of the PD department. Awake even when Asleep – always watching and waiting for the right time to strike, always enveloped within the intricacy of the UnderWeb and the vileness of it, always feeling a little bit _numb_ because if he wasn’t numb enough, he’d go insane (it had happened before, after all. He’d had to attend too many funerals over the years).

It wasn’t a bad life – not in the least. He had a great family, great friends, a great partner…if he could just-

Snapping fingers in front of his face caught his attention, and he blinked rapidly as he refocused on the world in front of him.

“Jees, DipDop, it’s like you’re Asleep or something,” his sister Mabel said as she withdrew her hand and fiddled with the straw of her half-finished milkshake, stirring the pink strawberry froth around in the glass.

Leaning back in his seat and clearing his throat, Dipper looked around him. He and his twin were seated in an outdoor café, the sun warm on his skin but not discomforting. His eyes narrowed to slits. _Twelve o’clock, clear. Six o’clock, clear. 3 o’clock, old couple feeding some birds – he’d need to keep an eye on them for suspicious activity. 9 o’clock, brick wall – possible detonator mark?_

“Dipper, bro, I can see what you’re doin’,” Mabel said, hitting the table so his gaze snapped back towards her. He cleared his throat and looked at his shirt, rolling the sleeves up to his elbows so he didn’t have to look her in the face. He hated seeing the pinched expression she wore when she was worried about him. “You need to take a serious chill pill.” She reached across the table to pat his arm and shoulder in a way he felt was patronizing, though was probably meant to comforting. “You’re like, _super_ paranoid. It can’t be good for you.” She turned in her seat, fiddling around in her purse; a hot pink bag so hideous even _he_ could tell it was unfashionable. She held out a small prescription bottle, shaking it so he could hear the bouncing of capsules inside. “Have you tried taking any Ampertime?”

Dipper’s nose scrunched up, and he pushed her hand away gently. “You know I’m not allowed to take any of that stuff. If there are any side effects while I’m Asleep at work, it could totally ruin a case,” he murmured into his cup of coffee as he picked it up, gripping the cup in two hands as he took a sip. Mabel looked unimpressed, her lips clamped into a firm frown, brows furrowed.

“He’s got you working serious overtime.”

“It comes with the job, Mabel,” he retorted with a shrug as he set the cup down, popping his shoulders as he stretched his arms outwards across the table between them. “I don’t know how many times I’ve told you that.”

“And I totally get that! But that doesn’t mean I like it!” She stamped her foot against the floor with frustration, a pout on her lips.

Dipper snorted, a smile pulling at the corners of his lips. “You don’t have to like anything, dingbat. You just have to get used to it.”

Mabel slumped back in her seat, her arms crossing over her chest. He could tell that she was thinking of some sort of come back – a way that she could convince him to work less (having a job at Grunkle Stan's old shack had it perks – she worked whenever she wanted, because he was totally soft on her, whereas this was the first lunch break he’d been able to take in weeks). Reading people came easily to him; as a Behavioral Analyst, it had to, or it wouldn’t have been a part of his job description, but with Mabel, he didn’t need to be able to analyse to understand the looks on her faces. Understanding her body language, gestures, and facial expressions sort of came with the twin territory. She had ticks, just like everyone else, and he knew every single one of them, as she knew every single one of his.

Finally, the squished up look on her face changed to a sly grin, and her eyes glinted with something more manic.

“Uh oh.”

“Oh yes!” She bounced up from the table, lifting her finger in the air, her chin raising proudly. “I proclaim that if thou, Dipper Pines, doth not return to his home at 9:00 pm consecutively for the next week, I, Mabel Pines, shall conduct a witness report to one Grunkle Stan so he can give him the proper butt whooping he thus deserves.”  
“Mabel, that’s not how court hearings work…that’s not how _anything_ works… and you’re not even using Old English right, so-”  
“DOTH DIPPER PINES AGREE.”

“Oh my god, Mabel, keep it down.”  
“DOTH. DIPPER PINES. AGREE?”

“ _Okay, okay, yeesh!_ You’re making a scene!” He half panicked, grabbing onto her arm and forcing her back into her seat as people started to look at them funny.

 _Target locked. Quick sweep at 1 o’clock makes for the quickest escape. Little girl barricade? Possible deterrent to attacks – oh my god, I sound like Grunkle Stan. What’s that beeping? Is it a bomb? HOLY CRAP IF IT IS A- Oh wait, nope. Phone. It’s my phone!_  
“I gotta take this, hold on,” he said to Mabel, who gave the biggest, loudest, dramatic sigh that she could, placing her hand against her forehead like some sort of damsel in distress. Sliding his phone out of his pocket, he keyed in the pin and answered the call as he pressed the phone to his hear.  
“Agent Pines, Behavioral Analysis and Technical Administrator for the Presidium of Defense speaking.”

“Heeeey Piiiiiiine Treeeee.”

Dipper slowly slumped down in his seat, his eyes closing like he was in agony. Back to work. Already.

“Yes, sir?”

“Lunch breaks over – you’ve got larger fish to fry! Time to get back to work.”

“But I’ve literally only been out for ten minutes!” He argued back with annoyance, resting his elbow on the table as Mabel repositioned herself in her seat, looking at him silently. “I only just got my coffee and everythi-”

“Does that mean you’re going on a coffee run? And it’s your shout? Oh, Pine Tree, you shouldn’t have!”

_“I didn’t-“_

“Twenty minutes; don’t be late,” his boss said on the end of the line, his voice abruptly changing from jovial to firm before hanging up.

Dipper looked at Mabel guiltily as he slowly pulled the phone away from his ear, a meek, apologetic smile on his face.

“Cipher?” She guessed with a grumble.

“Cipher,” he replied. She never had liked his boss – but then, he was an…acquired taste. An interesting pick to command an entire cyber unit, to say the least.

Dipper stood up, gulping down the last of his coffee, even the dreggy bits that he hated. “I am _so_ sorry, Mabel, uhm…rain check? I’ll text you when I’m free next, okay?”

“Well...I guess,” she said grudgingly. “But just remember what I said, okay? 9:00 pm.”

“Yeah, yeah, I will,” he replied, waving his hand to wave off her concerns. “9:00 pm. Love you – oh! And tell Grunkle Stan that I cleared his history, okay?”

“Want me to tell him that you love him?”

“Ew gross no, who would wanna love a stinky old man like him?”

“A stinky old woman?”

A laugh elicited from his lips, and he shook his head as he picked up his coat, chucking it over his shoulder. “See ya!” He said as he turned and ran away, keys in his hand. Mabel waved goodbye after him.

\---

Headquarters was a beautiful place; sterile and cold, perfect for the analytical mind. Doors of tinted black glass slid apart to allow him entrance into the magnificent room that belonged to the Cyber Unit of the PD. The floors were a glossy black tile, speckled with gray that glowed a bright blue when they were walked on. They echoed his steps around the sparsely populated room. The walls – which as a base were a startling white, were covered in ever changing images of websites, blueprints, and profiles. He paused to watch one of the walls, tray of coffee in his hands and keys dangling from his fingertips as the PD profile of a recently convicted man flashed across the stream, before disappearing again.

He remembered that case; a murder conducted through the UnderWeb. An assassin had been hired to kill the man’s wife so he could get her life insurance, but they’d managed to catch the pair in the act. He was happy to say that the man’s wife was safe - scarred for sure, but safe and alive.

Saving lives was the only thing that made this job bearable. The thanks that he and his co-workers received never went unappreciated.

Dipper’s gaze flickered around the edges of the room. Desks were push against the walls, three small computers were conjoined together, and one larger one hanging above them. A single chair accompanied each system. Most of the screens were blank, though he spotted Candy Chiu sitting at her desk with a pair of dark glasses over her face and plugs in her ears. When he walked past her, he could practically feel the electromagnetic pulse vibrating from her _Abacus_ gear. A quick glance at the screens showed him coding scrolling across the three small computers, and above on the large screen he could see what Candy was seeing. She was bartering with an arms dealer, by the looks of it, closing in on the deal like a lioness to its prey.

He’d leave her to it. It looked like an important deal.

A very loud clearing of someone’s throat drew his attention, and his eyes were pulled up the stairs and to the landing where his superior leaned over the bannister towards him, a look of impatience on his face.

”Twenty minutes and twenty-one minutes are two entirely different things, Pine Tree. You know that better than anyone,” he said with a cocked brow.

_Arrogant asshole._

“I was all the way across town; I did what I could,” Dipper retorted as he placed the tray of drinks down on the island in the middle of the room. He was careful to push aside the documents around it so no coffee spilled on the drinks. He watched his boss as he slammed the door of his office shut and slid down the bannister over to him, grinning from ear to ear.

Bill Cipher was _a lot_ of things; cunning, vicious, brutal, dangerous, smart. He sneered at everything he could, and flirted at everything else. Hell; he even managed to make half of the criminals the PD prosecuted swoon (he still received love letters from them to this day – they sat in a pile in his office just waiting to get thrown into the furnace downstairs). Blonde haired, dark eyed, snarky to the point of Dipper wanting to boot him in the face, but brilliant at his job. Watching him on Hunts had been an eye-opening experience for him; and if it weren’t for his maniac of a boss, he would probably have failed to get into the PD in the first place.

But that didn’t mean Dipper _liked_ him.

Bill looked at his watch, sliding his fingers across it and typing something, a smug satisfaction around him.

“Do you have any _idea_ what can happen in one minutes, Pine Tree? Two hundred and fifty babies can be born, three murders can be committed, five earthquakes can happen, there are one hundred and seven deaths, and thousands of cyber-attacks can occur. Do you have any idea how badly you just messed up?”

Dipper’s brows furrowed.

“But because I am a _genial_ boss who loves all of his inferiors, I’ll forgive you.”

“Yeah, okay, now can I-“

“- _If_ you take me out to dinner tonight.”

 _This again._ What the hell was Bill’s game?

“Hilarious. No,” Dipper said dryly. Bill let out a huff, blowing hair out of his face.

“You’re no fun – I took Frenchie out last week, _she_ appreciated me.”

“You’re a swine, Bill.”

“ _You love it.”_

“I think you’re mistaking me for ‘Frenchie’, _sir._ ”

Bill looked mildly irritated, but the expression was replaced by a sly smirk a second later as he leaned across the table to pluck a piece of paper from amongst the pile.

“Never mind that – look what I found while I was messing around in your stuff.”

Dipper snatched the paper from his hand, glaring at him with irritation before looking down at the writing across the page. It was just like Bill to mess around with _his_ cases, the prick, and if he-

His stomach dropped, mouth agape as he smacked the sheet of paper out of sheer disbelief.

“This…this is the evidence I’ve been trying to find all _week!_ How the hell did _you_ find it? _In my stuff?”_

”Uh, because I’m a certifiable genius, and you’re a pathetic little twelve year old?” Bill asked with a snarky grin, pulling himself onto the island and kicking his feet lightly.

“I’m twenty!” He barked back.

“Same _difference,”_ Bill remarked with an uncaring wave of his hand. He picked up one of the coffee cups, sipping it slowly. “Either way I found it, and now you can actually go get a warrant to arrest the suspect.”

Dipper beamed, feeling relief flex his entire being. He’d been stuck on the same case for a month and a half now; a drug smuggling ring that had been growing increasingly violent on and offline. He’d managed to close in on the supplier, but hadn’t had any evidence to ask for a formal arrest warrant to go and grab him.

Now; a bank statement buried amongst the others was his key to success.

“I could _hug_ you,” he breathed.

“Well, by all means, Pine Tree-“ Bill began suggestively, leaning closer to him. Dipper’s hand pushed him back.

“Uh, ew, you’re my _boss_. Act like it.”

“Boss in the bureau, beast in the bed, am I right or am I right?”

“You’re a disgrace.”

“Yes. But I could be _your_ disgrace.”

Dipper stepped away from him, doing his best to keep on a calm face. Now was _not_ the time for Bill and his bullshit. “I’m going to go talk to the Warrants Office, seeing as you aren’t _really_ that busy and don’t _actually_ need me around, you selfish twat, so please leave me alone. I’ll call you if I need your help.”

_No. Scratch that. I’d rather call Chiu._

Bill blew him a kiss, eyebrows wiggling in a way Dipper _thought_ was supposed to be sexy, but really just looked like his eyebrows were having a seizure on his face. He turned away from the flirtatious man, marching straight back out of the office.

_Asshole._


	2. Counterphobia

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally got the second chapter up! I've been super busy with examinations and extra-curricular stuff, so fanfiction had been put on hold for the moment - but hey, here we are! Hopefully you guys like the chapter.
> 
> I thought I'd put in a terms summary so you can remember what each means; I know I'd forget otherwise!
> 
> Abacus – The internet that is operated through.
> 
> Cognition – One side of Abacus
> 
> Expedient – One side of Abacus
> 
> Recondite – One side of Abacus
> 
> Awake – Not in Abacus (different to legitimately being awake. Capitalization is key.)
> 
> Asleep – In Abacus (different to legitimately being asleep. Capitalization is key.)
> 
> PD – Presidium of Defense (Like the CIA/FBI)
> 
> BA – Behavioral Analyst
> 
> TA – Technical Advisory (AKA Hacker)
> 
> Disclaimer: I don't own Gravity Falls.

Dipper watched Candy out of the corner of his eye as she pulled on her bulletproof vest, adjusting it so it fit snugly against her slight frame. She picked up a small gun, testing how comfortable the grip was in her hands. She squeezed one eye shut and pretended to shoot the weapon, making little 'pew pew' noises as she aimed. Satisfied, she gave herself a nod and slid it into the kit belt that rest snugly against her hips, a standard garment for Hunts. Her fingers glided through her hair to push the black mass into a ponytail and out of her eyes. "I am a ninja," she muttered to Dipper when she finally saw he was watching her, nodding. Her expression was dead serious.

Dipper didn't feel inclined to disagree, just raising an eyebrow at her as she started to do some warm up kicks and punches, the sound of her scuffling feet echoing across the concrete ground of the weapons room in the underground sector of Headquarters.

Candy had been the top martial artist in their class. She'd graduated with a brown belt in karate, a blue belt in kung fu, and a red belt in taekwondo. In comparison, he'd only graduated with a green belt in karate, a green belt in kung fu and a yellow belt taekwondo. They certainly weren't the  _worst_  marks in the class, but had definitely been in the bottom fifteen percent. He, of course, hadn't been taking the exact same course that she had, and for him fitness and his ability to stand on his own in a fight had come second to his behavioral analysis and technical advisory courses. He knew that Candy would rather rely on her body as a weapon than a gun or a knife like he did, but she was by no means a fool - she was a TA too, after all. She knew when to use what weapons and her expertise had gotten him out of more than one sticky situation in the past. He really couldn't have wished for a better partner.

Of course, Mabel and Candy being best friends was both a blessing and a curse; Candy was a total gossip - especially when it came to dissing out the details about the happenings at work. It made keeping his private life and professional life separate disastrously complicated, not to mention that because Candy was constantly relaying back to her the happenings at work, Mabel knew about his sleep habits (or lack thereof), and his coffee infatuation (which actually wasn't even an infatuation at this point, but a need). Mabel had the tendency to try slip sleeping medication into his drinks, if her more blatant attempts were unsuccessful and it was  _all Candy's fault_.

And duh, he  _knew_ it was unhealthy, but it came with his  _job_ , as he had to continuously tell her over and over again. Doing what he did was demanding; he was constantly on call.  _Abacus_  didn't just go offline when he was Awake, or legitimately asleep.  _Abacus_ always presented new cases, new complexities, and new problems.

Dipper cleared his thoughts, letting out a puff of air as he swiveled on his feet to refocus on the task at hand. He surveyed the weapons cabinet in front of him, trying to find the best one to use for the Hunt. It was sometimes hard to judge the right the situation he would be facing, as every new Hunt provided different challenges. While he preferred long range assault Hunts himself, drug rings tended to fall into the close range assault categories, depending on the scale of the operation - and while this case had been difficult to dig up dirt on, it was small in comparison to past cases – just five guys with lots of contacts - so didn't require the special ops guys coming in. This case they could handle of their own. After surveying the multitude of firearms and knives, he settled on two small pistols and a few knives – just in case. They felt a little arbitrary next to the more advanced weaponry, but if for some reason something happened to his guns, he wanted to know he had some semblance of backup.

"Hey, Candy, who else is coming on the Hunt today?" Dipper asked, turning his head to look at her as he pushed a round of bullets up into one of the pistols.

"I am not sure, Dipper…Grenda is away at a boxing course so I know she won't be."

"Wendy, maybe?"

"No no, she is undercover at the moment, remember?"

"Oh right, with the McCarthy case."

"Exactly."

"So…who's leading us in, then? Please don't tell me-" He began with a groan, breaking off with a grunt when an arm was thrown cheerfully over his shoulder, pulling him tight against his boss's side.

"It's me? Oh Pine Tree, don't sound so disappointed!"

_Bear with it, Dipper. Bear. With it._

He shrunk away from his overly affectionate superior to push another round of bullets into his second pistol. Really, Bill was the  _last_  person he wanted to be running an operation – and no, it wasn't because he was bad at giving orders or anything like that because he was actually one of the most efficient leaders when it came to Hunts. Bill could push himself into the mind-set of criminals and figure out what made them tick by making  _himself_ tick in a way that no one else could. He was like Dipper's opposite in the retrospect, considering his job was to push himself into the minds of criminals themselves and break them down. So no, Bill was a good leader, and that was fine. He didn't mind taking orders from him.

It was the  _constant flirting when he was trying not to get himself killed_ that bugged him.

"Don't forget your earpiece, Pine Tree," Bill said, grinning slyly as he pushed a small plug into his ear, hooking it over the outside of it.

"I'm not a child, I can do it myself."

"What? And give up an excuse to touch you – oh Pine Tree, you're sorely mistaken if you think I would do that to myself."

Candy giggled, but a quick glare from Dipper had her turning away and trying to muffle the sounds as she put in her own earpiece.

"I hate my life," he announced with a wildly dramatic moan, pushing the two pistols into his kit belt.

Bill clapped his hands together, rubbing them mischievously. "You're about to hate it even more!" He announced, snapping his fingers at him. "I'm putting you in through the front entrance."

"Front entrance?" He repeated. "Really? Bill, I'm no good at fighting up front, you know that!" Usually the front was the worst place to be – it was the easiest access root after all, so typically the most well-guarded – and therefore, the most dangerous.

"Oh  _waa waa, Pine Tree._ Go have a cry about it!" Bill shook his head as he plucked one of the knives from Dipper's kit belt, twirling it around his fingers before slipping the weapon into the only remaining gap on his own belt. "I need you up there. You know as well as I do how volatile some of these gangsters can get. We don't want some crackhead trying to blow up the compound with us in it. That's where  _you_  come in. Find their weakest link and before they can do something stupid  _destroy it._ Do I make myself loud and clear?"

"…Yes sir," he muttered grudgingly.

"See! Even someone as dim-witted as you can follow simple instructions! Glad to see you're learning, Pine Tree."

"This is why I'd never consider dating you."

Bill deflated, throwing Dipper a shriveled look to rival his smug one, glad to see he'd gotten one over on the flamboyant blonde as he turned to Candy whose shoulders were shaking with quiet laughter. He glanced over at her. "Shrew, you'll be on the left wing."

"Formation one?" She asked, pausing in her warm up.

"Uh huh. The quieter the better – stealth is key," he said. "The less time they have to react, the higher rate of success we have for the operation."

Bill swiped up his ear piece, putting it on as he started walking away to the stairs, taking the ones that led down further into the underground complex instead of back up to Headquarters. Dipper and Candy followed quickly after him, following the spiral staircase down. The further they walked the colder it got, and he found himself hugging his arms to his side as he listened to his footsteps scuffing against the ground.

Bill jumped the last few steps, grinning triumphantly as he looked around the parking garage. Cars of every distinction were parked around the large, concrete walled room in the underground sector of the building. His eyes slid from two slim back limousines that took up two parks each, past three 'junk' cars that were typically used for their undercover operations, and over a group of black PD vans that he knew were stocked with surveillance equipment up front, and…other not-quite-so-legal containment units in the back before landing on his boss.

Bill cupped his hands together at his mouth and yelled, "LLAMA! OI! GET OVER HERE!"

Dipper and Candy came to a stop at Bill's side as there was a loud banging down and yelp at the other end of the parking garage. A mop of blonde hair lifted up from behind a motorcycle, Pacifica appearing beneath the wild mane and swearing like a sailor. She rubbed her head with one hand, picking up a wrench with the other.

"DON'T YELL AT ME WHEN I'M WORKING!" She yelled back at him angrily, flinging the wrench at Bill who just dodged to the side with a cheeky grin on his face.

Dipper shoved his hands into his pockets as the mechanic marched over to them with a huff that he could hear from all the way on the other side of the room.

Pacifica was a…very  _non-stereotypical_  mechanic to say the least. Today, since it was a hot day, she had gone with shorts and a hot pink crop top underneath her denim overalls (which, in his opinion, showed  _far too much skin for the workplace_ ), and her black boots steel-capped at the front. In direct contrast to her love for anything and everything mechanical, she also loved jewelry and dresses and was  _desperately vain,_ something he was particular to pointing out whenever he caught her leaving for work (he'd almost caught a wrench to the back of the head more times than he cared to count).

Personally, Dipper liked Pacifica. He really hadn't at first – being the same age and having gone to the same school as she did, he'd watched the way she and her groupies had picked on his sister, but as they'd gotten older she'd grown out of that childish attitude and grown into a friend he knew he and his sister could count on. They had a lot of similar interests, and even though they argued  _a lot_ , it was never about anything serious.

They also enjoyed 'flirting' with each other, at Bill's expense. They were both pretty certain he suspected there was something more  _romantic_ between them afoot (gross), but they both enjoyed seeing the tortured look on his face whenever Pacifica walked into Headquarters asking for "him and him  _alone"_ (or better yet, the time when she had walking in with a cucumber in her hand and wriggling her eyebrows at him), so the playful flirting wasn't going to stop any time soon.

Her hair was tied up out of her face, which bore an irritated scowl. She stopped in front of them, crossing her arms across her chest as she blew a bright pink bubble in Bill's face, letting it pop before resuming chewing.

"What do you want  _this_  time?"

Bill didn't look impressed. "We need one of the vans. Did you install the new sirens?"

"Did I install the new sirens? Uhm,  _duh_ , of course I did."

"Great," he said, tone suggesting he was already irritated by her presence.

She flicked her ponytail over her shoulder, twirling the end of it around her finger. "Take B3. Keys are on the hook." She turned away to go back to the motorcycle, but paused, looking at Dipper. "See you tomorrow, yeah?"

Dipper felt Bill's hand wrap possessively around his arm. His eyebrows twitched in annoyance.

"Definitely. Movie night at mine this time," he said with a grin and a wink. He could practically see her resisting to roll her eyes as she turned back away and flounced back the way she had come.

Bill refused to let him go, after that, dragging him across the underground facility towards the vans. He was pretty sure he heard Candy snap some photos of them on her phone.

_Insufferable idiots. The lot of them._

* * *

"Pine Tree, come in. Are you in position?"

"Roger that, Cipher."

"Shrew, how about you?"

"Yes, sir."

"Infrared says it is all clear to move in. Pine Tree, there's one target just inside the front door. I can't tell if there are any guns on him – there probably are, so look alive. Your job is to subdue the target and apprehend any weapons or drugs you can find. Clear?"

Dipper glanced around him from where he sat squatting in the bushes outside the small, dilapidated two story house down on the West End. His gaze flickered to the front door that looked like it was about to burst off of its hinges, and then to the windows that were blocked by towels and blankets, the glass long gone. The house was… _odd_  to say the least, considering his past understanding of how drug lords lived. Usually they were infiltrating penthouses or manor homes, not ghettos and brothels (as the West End was so prominently known for). His eyes followed Candy as she hid against the wall on the rotting balcony. If she were any heavier, she'd probably fall through.

"Uh. Clear."

"Good. Go – I'll keep an eye on you. Don't die on me, eh, sweet cheeks."

"…please don't call me that," he said as he stood up, listening to Candy's laugh as he switched off the ear piece. He pulled his gun from his kit belt and cocked it once. He closed his eyes, allowing the sound to run through him as he brushed the two safety triggers. The feel of them always comforted him – just knowing that he had the option to turn them on or off was enough to falsify him into thinking he had more control over the situation than he really did.

Dipper opened his eyes, jaw clenched and his face set; blank. Numb. That was all he was. It was what he had to be. He flicked off the first safety switch.

He walked up to the front door, prepping himself, and then kicked it open, the hard flat of his boot connecting with the splintered door. As he'd expected, it came off of its hinges and fell backwards onto the floor.

A small guy who'd dived to the side out of the doorway when the gun feel, waving a gun in his direction. Dipper aimed his own gun towards the floor, one hand slowly raising to show he didn't mean any harm. His eyes spotted all the signs – the way his eyes flickered around, never focusing; the sweat that covered his body head to toe; the constant and never ceasing shivering.

This kid – really, a  _kid._  Maybe nineteen, but definitely no younger than fifteen – was high as a goddamn kite.

And he wasn't having a good trip, either.

"Look, kid-"

There was a loud bang and the boy shouted. His eyes squeezed shut as the guns kick made him fall backwards, shooting the ceiling above.

_Shit._

He switched his ear piece back on. "Cipher, the kid's violent. He's high as fuck, what if I can't get through to him?"

"Pine Tree." Bill's voice was soft but firm in his ear. "You can handle this. You've done it before."

Dipper swallowed thickly, approaching the kid a little more slowly as he tried to resettle himself, fumbling with the gun as he waved it around, blinking rapidly as he tried to aim. Slowly, Dipper bent down in front of him, returning the gun to his kit belt.

"I'm not here to hurt you," he whispered softly.

"Left wing is all clear. Should I proceed to the right wing?" Candy asked on her end of the line.

"Yes, just make sure you stay on talk – I can't get an infrared reading over there."

"Yes sir."

"Good. Now - Pine Tree…keep it going. Get that gun outta there." His voice was reassuring, and with every comforting word he felt like fresh oxygen was pumping into brain, allowing him to focus.

"Kid," Dipper continued as he wrapped his hand slowly around the gun, pulling it out of the boys grip. He let out a strange whimper at the loss, grubby hands reaching out for it. Flicking the safety on – the gun only had the one – and pocketing it, he stood. His hands wrapped around the boys wrists, pulling him up. He shouldered an arm to support the boy.

"Cipher, I've got the kid out, unarmed. Weapon ceased."

"Great. Lock him away for now. By the time we finish up here he hopefully will have calmed down a little."

Dipper nodded, even though he knew Bill couldn't see it.  
"Hey, kid. Oi," he said. The kid blinked at him drearily, the whites of his eyes red, pupil's dilated. "I'm just going to put you in here, okay?" He said, seeing an ajar closet. "You'll be nice and safe that way."

The kid said nothing as he slowly slid his arm off of him, letting him down onto the floor gently. He shut the closet, leaving a small gap so he could see it was still open, and could get out in his drug induced state if it came to it.

"Right, all clear. Where am I going now?"

"Kitchen. There's two guys over there. They're moving around a lot…cooking the dough, maybe. Or bagging it, I can't be sure."

"…is it safe?"

"Probably not. Keep going straight. I'm sure you'll smell it before you see it."

"Roger that, Cipher," he said, hand brushing over his gun and grabbing the handle. He slowly moved forward, sniffing. A rancid odor hit his nose, and he paused, screwing it up in disgust as his mouth pulled down into a frown. He shook himself off, following the stench. It reminded him of cat urine and rotten eggs.

 _God. What are they_ cooking _in there?_

He whipped his gun out of his belt, stopping outside a shower curtain. It didn't quite meet the floor, and he could see where wood met tile. Definitely the right room.

Dipper's gaze snapped up towards when he heard a loud thump upstairs, then the sound of something scraping against the wooden floor. Dust and wood fell down into his face, making him sneeze.

"Aw, your sneeze is  _so adorable,"_ Bill gushed.

Dipper tiptoed backwards as feet stopped at the curtain. He leveled his gun at the curtain, turning off the first safety.

Candy piped up with a, "targets captured," on her end.

"Great, Shrew, get down there and help Pine Tree."

"Sure thing, Cipher," she said.

"Pine Tree, you still there?" Bill continued, readdressing Dipper as he watched another set of feet join the other at the curtain. He said nothing. He had to get in, deal with them, and get out. Five seconds. That was all he needed.

Bill said nothing for a long time, then, "Do whatever you think you have to."

With that order he straightened his back, edging closer to the curtain and making sure the shadowed person on the other side didn't see him.

_1...2…3…_

Dipper shoved through the curtain. "PRESIDIUM OF DEFENSE, PUT YOUR HANDS BEHIND YOUR HEAD!" He shouted at them.

Two people stood in the kitchen – a man and a women. The man stood in front of a large pot, the woman right in front of him with a knife in her hand. She slashed down towards Dipper with the knife as soon as he stepped past the curtain, but he dodged nimbly to the side just in time for the weapon to swipe down where he'd been not a second before. The man lifted a gun towards him, one he recognized as being pretty damn powerful, and this time the gas mask wrapped over his mouth and nose told him he wasn't on any drugs.

He flicked the second safety switch off with his finger.

Everything began to move in slow motion, as a shrill piercing erupting in his ears, blocking out the sounds of the criminals shouting in a language he didn't understand, blocking out the catching of his breath, blocking out all but the one, deafening note that screamed into his head.

First, he felt the gun kick back in his hand, the small pistol frame spreading apart at the barrel. In the gap of the barrel another extended forward, sleek and black and buzzing with a blue light that ran down the gun and through his fingertips. Under his skin he could see his veins begin to glow an electric blue, felt the small zaps stabbing into his bones. The pulse of the weapon thudded through him like a heartbeat as the man shot his weapon. He ducked away from the bullet and under the woman's arm as he aimed the sleek black barrel towards the man.

He pushed the trigger of the gun forward, and a thin tendril of buzzing blue light shot towards the man, sinking into his arm. His arms and legs locked together, eyes full of panic as he collapsed onto the floor, completely paralyzed.

The woman let out a shriek, and he spun just in time to see a high arching foot connect with her temple, knocking her straight onto the floor, out like a light.

He paused, looking at Candy, who gave him a thumbs up. She was saying something he couldn't hear, her mouth moving quickly. He flicked both safeties back on, the shrill screams stopping ringing in and out of his head and the pulsing blue of his veins dying out.

"Mission complete. Targets down. Collecting the evidence," she said into her ear piece. He heard the echo of her voice coming back through his own ear piece.

"Great. I'll be right in. Return with the suspects from upstairs. I'll get the kid in the closet," Bill said. "Pine Tree, Shrew...you did good today. I'm proud of you both."

* * *

Dipper dragged his feet across the wooden floorboards of his home, hungry eyes pinned on his bed.

God, what he wouldn't give to pass out right now.

Exhaustion weighed down on his body, slumping his shoulders and curving his back like he was an old man.

He flopped down on his bed, staring at the ceiling.

"1387y," he said. The plain white paint began to dissolve into blacks and blues, interposed with spots of white that sparked like tiny diamonds.

Dipper relaxed against his bed, staring up at the night sky that shone above him. His eyes picked out the different constellations – Ursa Major, the great bear, and within that, the group of constellations that had garnered him his nickname. Deeper within that, he started to pick out the individual stars – Alkaid, Alcor, Mizar, Alioth, Megrez, Phecda, Merak, and Dubhe.

That was the sad thing about being able to project whatever he wanted into his home. He didn't have to  _work_ for it. He didn't get to experience the thrill of finding and pinpointing the star he'd been looking, didn't get the sense of accomplishment that it came with.

He sighed, turning onto his side, one arm tucked under his pillow as he stared at the sleeping pills conveniently placed on the side of his bed. Scrawled across the bottle in iridescent blue writing shone the words, 'eat me.'

Dipper really wished he could. He appreciated that Mabel was thinking of him and his insomniac tendencies.

He picked up the bottle, gripping it tight in his hand and chucked the bottle hard at the wall opposite him. It hit the wall and bounced straight back off, a shockwave radiating around the center of impact. The dent it had put in the wall was immediately fixed, good as new.

Letting out a huff through his nose he turned onto his other side, glaring at the wall beside him. He couldn't even ruin his own freaking property.  _Great._  Mabel had obviously been in doing some adjustments to his apartment while he was at work.

Dipper closed his eyes tightly, curling up into a ball with the pillow pulled hard down over his head.

Even in pitch darkness sleep alluded him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoo! Chapter 2 finished. This took me so long to write - I had to write it in bits and pieces with everything going on so it was quite bitsy having to go back and reread everything I'd written previously. But we're done now and I can finally start writing the next chapter!
> 
> Read and review guys, or shoot me a message on tumblr - filthymallards.tumblr.com


	3. Agliophobia

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter! Sorry for the long wait!
> 
> Terms
> 
> Abacus – Like an immersive version of the Internet
> 
> Cognition – One side of Abacus
> 
> Expedient – One side of Abacus
> 
> Recondite – One side of Abacus
> 
> Awake – Not in Abacus (different to legitimately being awake. Capitalization is key.)
> 
> Asleep – In Abacus (different to legitimately being asleep. Capitalization is key.)
> 
> PD – Presidium of Defense (Like the CIA/FBI)
> 
> BA – Behavioral Analyst
> 
> TA – Technical Advisory (AKA Hacker)
> 
> Disclaimer: I don't own Gravity Falls.

It wasn't even ten in the morning and Dipper was already feeling like a nervous wreck, his foot tapping incessantly on the ground as he clutched his third coffee tight in his hands. The tile flashed blue under his shoe with every hyper jitter.

"Would you quit it, I'm trying to focus," Bill said, throwing Dipper a look of frustration. In Bill's hand he clutched a mottled black folder, stuffed full of white papers. Dipper stopped his foot, pushing his weight down onto it. He could feel it practically shaking underneath him.

"Sorry."

"You should cut down on the coffee, kid. Too much caffeine is bad for you."

"Is that genuine _concern_ I hear in your voice, Bill?" Dipper gasped mockingly. The tight-lipped look Bill scathingly sent him said enough for Dipper to understand that he wasn't pleased. "…I would if I could," he finally grumbled, but set the cup down on the table beside him. He crossed his arms over his chest and looked through the wide glass expanse before them and into the room beyond it.

Inside sat the man he had paralysed yesterday, staring resolutely down at the glowing blue cuffs around his hands like he could burn a whole through them.

Dipper looked at Bill. The blonde man had his head tipped to his side and was rubbing his chin, eyes narrowed thoughtfully.

"Sir?"  
Bill's head snapped up, looking at Dipper. "What?" He said in a snippy tone.

"Erm…I just…" He shoved his hands into the pockets of his pants. "I-I was wondering what you needed me to do, exactly?"

Bill let out a long puff of air, returning his gaze back to the prosecuted man in the room.

"I was reviewing the information from your interrogation of Adam Hawkins yesterday," he began. Dipper nodded, thinking back to the kid they'd gotten out of the building. The questioning hadn't revealed any new information to them, other than his name and the drug habits that had put him into the situation he'd gotten into, and they had yet to begin questioning the other suspects.

"So…why are we starting with him and not the bigwig that Candy arrested?" He asked.

Bill opened his folder, fishing through the papers until he pulled out a few pages of transcripts. "I was listening to the recording from your interrogation last night, and I noticed a discrepancy in his speech. I'm surprised you didn't notice it right off the bat."

"Hey…sometimes I miss things. That's why we record in the first place," he retorted, a little sensitively. He felt some irritation at the fact that he'd missed something. Bill pulled himself up onto the desk, handing the transcripts to Dipper as he put his folder down.

"Page three, about half way down," he said as he picked up Dipper's coffee, taking a sip. The young analyst shuffled through the papers until he was looking at the third page, leaning against the desk beside Bill. A frown marred his features. He brushed his finger over a sentence that glowed a dull green, marking it as a discrepancy, until it began to glow in yellow. After a few moments, the words of Adam Hawkins began to play out to them.

"W-well…I- _I_ don't know anything else."

Dipper's nose scrunched up. "His…pitch rises here, right?"

"Uh huh, Pine Tree, it sure does. Good observation skills," Bill said, tone a little dry. Dipper ignored the jab at his oversight.

Of course, the message could easily have been taken as the boy knowing more than he was letting on, but really, what did he have to hide? His attitude and body language all said he was a victim, and although he made mistakes sometimes, he trusted his judgement. So that left him leaving them to assume that someone _else_ knew more information.

What Dipper couldn't work out was why Bill had assumed it was _this guy_ of all people.

Dipper slowly lifted his gaze from the transcript to the man in the room, eyes flickering over the way he was sitting and deciphering the expression he was wearing. His shoulders were hunched down but squared, feet planted squarely on the ground. His arms rested on the table, fists clenched tight. Finally, his face was blank despite the glare he was sending the handcuffs, mouth twitching ever so slightly.

"He definitely has something to hide," he concluded.

"Indeed," Bill agreed, setting Dipper's now empty coffee cup down. He stretched out his long limbs, yawning. "Do whatever you have to do to get answers." He slid off of the table and stood up, gathering up his things. "I'm gonna go talk to the head honcho, see if I can't get any information from him. Don't forget to record."

"I won't. Later, Bill."

Bill gave a light wave with one hand as he pressed the other against a pad against the wall. A low green glow circled his palm and fingers, the door sliding up to let him leave.

Once he was gone, Dipper turned back to look at the man, taking a deep breath.

 _Right. Time to get started.  
_ He slammed the side of his fist into the big fat record button on the wall. A red light filled the interrogation room. The man's tensed shoulders tightened even more, head lifting to look around at the light. Dipper bent down in front of the interrogation room door, a white light flashing from an electronic pad on the wall, scanning his eye. The door swung open as Dipper walked in, the man's head swivelling in his direction. He arched an eyebrow at him, shrugging his shoulders lightly.

"Look man, we can do this the easy way or the hard way," he said simply, shoving his hands into the pockets of his pants. He could already tell this guy's type, and beating around the bush wasn't going to get him anywhere – straight to the point. Blunt and inconsiderate. The man spat at him, and Dipper stepped backwards as his nose scrunched up in disgust.

 _Definitely_ a straight to the point kinda guy.

"C'mon, man. At least tell me your name."

When the man didn't respond Dipper let out a soft sigh. He pivoted around on one foot, slamming the flat of his other hard into the side of his chair. The man went flying off of it with a grunt, his eyes squeezed shut and knees pulled up to his stomach. He held his handcuffed hands against his chest.

"Dude, you're making this _way_ harder than it has to be. Tell me what I wanna know and I can get you all fixed up in the infirmary," he said nonchalantly, bending down next to him.

"Fuck off, asshole – this good cop, bad cop shit ain't gonna work on me," he bit out, throwing Dipper a vicious look that would have surely killed him if it had been a legitimate weapon.

"I'm just doing my job," he said with a one shouldered shrug. "You'd make it _a lot_ easier if you just co-operated."

"Like hell I will."

His brows drew down, expression darkening.

"Then hell you'll find."

Slowly he stood, yanking the man up by his hair. He let out a vicious hiss, wriggling against Dipper's grip.

" _Name_ ," he repeated firmly.

 _"Bitch,"_ he snarled back aggressively.

Dipper scowled, his fingers lacing deeper into his hair and sinking into his scalp. "Okay _, Bitch_ , I guess I'm going to have to teach you some ground rules." He grabbed his chin with his free hand, yanking his head up so he was looking him in the eye. "First off, that's no way to talk to a civil servant." He let go of his chin, pulling his arm back and then slammed the convicts head hard against the wall. He let out a guttural grunt in the back of his throat, body twisting as he tried to pull away.

"Name!" Dipper barked angrily.

When he didn't receive a reply he drew his head back again, slamming it harder against the wall. This time he heard a sharp gasp – felt blood splatter onto his shoes as the man coughed at the ground. "Second, if you're the _bitch_ , learn your place, _dog."_ He leaned his head closer to him, eyes narrowed. _"Don't make me ask again."_

"R-Randy…Randy Stone," the man finally slurred. Blood ran from his nose and dribbled from his closed mouth. Dipper could already see mottled bruises appearing across his forehead and temples.

He picked up the man's chair, smiling pleasantly.

"Now was that really so hard, _Randy?"_ He asked genially. Randy watched Dipper through wary eyes, hand clutched against his forehead. "Now why don't we continue that nice little talk we were having, hm?" He pulled up his own seat, sitting down in it. "Would you like a cup of tea?"

* * *

The toilet provided the perfect object to vomit into.

Kneeling down against the glaring white tiles and gripping the porcelain bowl, Dipper puked up what little food was in his stomach. He coughed and gagged, fingers turning white from the pressure he was putting on them – holding the bowl like a lifeline.

It was sick, sick, sick.

 _He_ was sick, sick, sick.

How one human being could attack another like he had done had to be sick, right?

How could one person create such an ugly color against another's face?

Crimson, cherry, rose, garnet, ruby – it was all the same.

 _The blood, the blood, oh god, oh god it's everywhere. I'm going to die. What am I going to do, I have to find Mabel – where's Mabel? Is she okay? Is she hurt? Shit. Shit! Mabel! MABEL!  
_ "MABEL!"

Dipper scrambled up and away from the toilet, breathing quick and panicked. His back hitting the stall door jolted him out of his stupor. He caught himself, letting out a shaky breath as he realized where he was. He could feel his heart palpitating twice its normal speed. He could feel the tears streaming down his cheeks.

Pushing the door open, he met his face in the mirror - saw the horror stricken expression on it, the bags under his wide blown eyes.

He felt like he was twelve again.

_No. Not again._

The only sound within the bathroom was the sound of the water pumps, slowly but steadily recycling old water and his rapid but calming breathing.

Dipper walked over to the basin, turning the tap on and splashing cold water across his face. When he looked back up at his face in the mirror, he just looked haggard. Eyes half closed, bags ever present. A frown pulling at the corners of his mouth.

He turned the tap off and stepped away from the sink. Pivoting on his feet, he went and flushed his bile down the toilet. He watched the toilet water spin, the white and blue swirled into a mass of suffocating ocean.

Running a hand down his face, Dipper rolled back his shoulders and left the lavatory, heading back to the main part of headquarters.

Candy was sitting at her desk, feet propped up on the table and chewing on some gummy worms. She paused when she saw Dipper's face, sucking up the worm and swallowing it.

"Woah…Dipper. What is wrong?" She asked with concern.  
"Nothing. It's fine. I just need coffee."

"Dipper-"  
" _I said it's fine, Candy!"_ He snapped at her angrily. The both of them stopped what they were doing; Candy with a gummy worm held to her mouth, Dipper throwing down the papers he'd just picked up. They stared at one another until Dipper cleared his throat, shuffling the papers back up into a tidy pile. "Sorry, Candy…I'm just having a rough day," he said apologetically, his voice a few notches quieter than normal.

His partner put the gummy worms down, walking over to help him pick up some of the documents that had fluttered away from him. She handed them back to him so he could add them to the pile.

"Is this about the interrogation? Did something go wrong?" She asked with concern.

"No. No…everything went fine," he muttered, shaking his head violently. He placed the stack back down on the table. "Damn near perfect, even."

"So then why are you so upset?"

"Just forget it, okay?"

Candy's lips pursed, eyes narrowing dangerously. He knew that look.

He'd be getting an earful from Mabel later.

"So," she said as she sat back down. "What did he say?"

Dipper leaned against the table and crossed his arms, burying his head in them to suppress a headache. "A lot. He said a lot, but…" He curled his hand into a fist. He felt like he was missing something.

Candy leaned back in her seat, one foot on the floor and pushing her around slightly. Dipper watched the tile glow blue as she twisted her foot back and forth on it.  
"But…?" She pressed.

"But there's something he won't tell me. I don't think he will, either."

"How do you know?"

"I just do." He pushed off the desk, running a hand through his hair. "I guess Bill could question him; he might be able to find out what."

"Maybe," Candy agreed. "I mean, he _is_ our boss for a reason."

Dipper said nothing, rubbing his face. He didn't understand…this whole case should have been a simple open and shut; they were _amateurs._

But it _wasn't._

He was missing something. Something big.

"I think I'm gonna go into Recondite…I'll have another look and see if I've missed something," he eventually decided, walking over to his work station and sitting down. "If I'm still in there when Bill comes back, can you tell him my recording is on his desk?"

"Are you sure?" Candy asked.

Dipper didn't reply as he sat down, flicking on the computers. A powerful green glow emitted from the screen, scanning his facial features. His nose twitched, feeling a light sting from the scanner. 'Welcome, Dipper Pines' the computer wrote across the screen in thick black letters, before each screen turned to his screensaver; a photo of him and Mabel. He was giving Mabel a piggyback ride, sand embedded between their toes. Behind them, the sea crashed against the sandy shores of the beach. Dipper quirked a small smile at the photo.

Drawing his eyes away from the computer screens, he looked at the glasses and plugs. He pulled them over to himself, glancing back at Candy as she sat back down at her desk, popping another gummy candy into her mouth.

Placing the plugs into his ears cut off all sound immediately, and he felt small clasps grip onto his ear lobe so they wouldn't fall out while he was Asleep. He winced a little at the feeling of tiny, needle like pinpricks. He placed his hand against the hand-shaped print on his desk, feeling his hand push against the squishy substance that quickly molded around it. The screensaver vanished, and silver words flashed across the screen.

_Abacus._

He pulled his hand out, lay back in his seat, and put the glasses on.

Darkness welcomed him.

* * *

Dipper's eyes flashed open to a world of spiraling code. The blue that reflected around him was painful to look at, burning into his irises. He pulled himself up. Around the sides of his vision, he saw his stats. He read them over to see if they'd changed since he'd last been there.

_Name: Undefined._

_Home base; Recondite._

_Best friend; PinkFluff_

_Gifts: (1) PinkFluff._

_Hours played: Undefined._

_Status: Asleep._

The gift function popped up in front of his vision, showing he has a letter. He opened it, frowning to himself. Mabel's voice came from it.

_"DipDop! Come visit me when you get off work please! I have so SUPER DUPER AMAZING NEWS! Love ya!"_

Dipper let out a long sigh as the letter vanished from his screen, showing he now had no gifts. A part of him was curious to know what her 'super duper amazing news' was, but he knew he had more pressing matters to attend to.

Like what the hell was going on with this goddamn _case._

His history appeared on the screen and he scrolled downwards until it stopped at _XXPANEXX's_ home base. Slowly, the blue of the walls around him dissolved, different shades of color crawling up the blue like curtains catching on fire. They became a fancy home with cream walls and gray carpets, fancy furniture placed around the place. There was high backed chair, like from the old mob movies he and Mabel watched sometimes. Chandeliers hung from the ceiling, golden and glowing. He sat down in the plain white chaise lounge seat that appeared, rubbing his hand over his cheeks.

"Where to start…" he muttered. He knew the crime scene team would have already scoped out both the digital and real base operations, but there was always the possibility something got missed, right?

_Right?_

He grimaced slightly, staring at the floor. This was needlessly difficult, and it was really starting to drive him crazy. He raked his foot across the floor, clearing away the pixels to see the blue beneath. It glowered at him accusingly, glowering at his incompetence. He scowled, kicking his foot against it, furious and annoyed. Why couldn't this just be easy?

A frown deepened on his face, and he began kicking the ground with his foot – and then more, and more, and more. Soon he was standing, scraping at the spot with a vigorous fervor.

"This doesn't make any sense..." he muttered to himself.

Below the blue, another layer had appeared; a new base beneath the other. He brought up the coding panel, looking at it with his brows furrowed.

Underneath the main layer, he finally saw it – the hidden code that allowed…whatever this was…to exist.

If he hadn't already scraped away part of the first layer, he probably wouldn't have noticed it.

Surely these dealers were too dumb to understand the concept of coding in the first place? So… _how?_

Dipper stared at the code for a moment more, then allowed the panel to shut, disappearing from view.

He fell into his seat, staring at the wall.

Now he had more questions than he did answers.

God. He fucking _hated_ questions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm trying to finish up Chapter 4 at the moment. I'm really behind on this story at the moment, what with trying to catch up with my Walk the Line oneshots and such. I think I might just end up chucking them on A03, too.  
> Anyway, read and review guys, or shoot me a message on tumblr - filthymallards.tumblr.com


	4. Erythrophobia

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Terms
> 
> Abacus – Like an immersive version of the Internet
> 
> Cognition – One side of Abacus
> 
> Expedient – One side of Abacus
> 
> Recondite – One side of Abacus
> 
> Awake – Not in Abacus (different to legitimately being awake. Capitalization is key.)
> 
> Asleep – In Abacus (different to legitimately being asleep. Capitalization is key.)
> 
> PD – Presidium of Defense (Like the CIA/FBI)
> 
> BA – Behavioral Analyst
> 
> TA – Technical Advisory (AKA Hacker)
> 
> Disclaimer: I don't own Gravity Falls.

Mabel slid a glass of tea over the kitchen table to Dipper, taking a seat opposite him. He sneaked his hand to the middle of the table to pick up a slice of apple pie. It was a little hard in his hand, so he guessed Mabel had gotten distracted while it was cooking. Either way, he took a bit out of it, chewing on it silently. Still tasted good. His eyes stayed focused on her, serious. Whatever it was she wanted to tell him, it must have been personal since she’d decided to do it in her home rather than go out anywhere. He paused in his chewing to take a sip of his tea, savoring the searing burn from the hot liquid that scraped down his throat.

Mabel took a sip of her own drink; coffee, by the smell of it.

“Oi. Why didn’t I get a coffee?” He said with an offended sniff.

“You don’t need a stimulate, dummy – you need something to help you relax,” she retorted, raising an eyebrow at him as she slurped the drink, smiling pleasantly. Her words were light, but she wasn’t fooling him. She was as concerned as ever, but he knew she wouldn’t try and drug him in the middle of the day. That wasn’t her M.O.

He grunted into his tea, putting it down on the table as he looked around him. Mabel’s home was as effervescent as she was; bright and bubbly, colorful. Unlike his plain, boring apartment which looked exactly the same when he stepped inside after a hard day, her little cottage just outside of the city was constantly changing. It reflected her personality, her mood, her interests. Just like her place in Cognition. She preferred to paint the walls and actually change her decor manually rather than use the wall graphics, like he did. She was old fashioned, in that retrospect, but she was happy with herself and her home. That was all he could have asked for, really.

Since his last visit to her home a few bits and pieces had changed – outside, he’d seen the edition of a water well spray painted purple, and some new flowers that looked like they might be being grown for the local farmers market. The walls in her living room had gone from sea blue to hot pink, little designs and drawings patterned across the paint. His eyes drifted around the kitchen, the walls of which were a plain white, only intersected by the dark black of some portraits she’d painted. He spotted Mabel with Candy and Grenda, one of Grunkle Stan. One of himself.

One of their parents.

He abruptly turned his face away from the walls to stare at her, jaw tight.

Either she didn’t see his expression or she ignored it, because she continued to smile pleasantly. He could almost feel the buzz under her skin, like she could barely hold in her excitement anymore.

“Just so you know, coffee only stimulates someone for so long. After the stimulation of drinking a cup wears off you hit a low that makes your body more inactive and desensitized than before you drank it in the first place. That’s why a caffeine addict has to continuously drink cups throughout the day, less they plummet into that low and cease to function at the high consistency that they would have had they’re central nervous system been as stimulated as the body had become accustomed too.”

Mabel stared at him, blinking absently.

“…well,” he finally conceded with a sigh, pushing the tea away from him, “Spit it out.”  
  
Mabel placed her coffee down, straightening in her seat. The smile on her face turned into a wicked grin, and she squealed excitedly. “Dipper! I got picked up by Star Enterprises!” Her arms flung out in front of her, spilling her coffee across the table. He edged his chair away from the table slightly, grimacing.

“Star Enterprises?” He repeated.

“Uh huh, uh huh! I got the message when I was doing some clean up in my home in Cog, and _aaargh!_ I can’t believe they picked _me!”_

Dipper searched his mind, trying to figure out what Star Enterprises did. “Oh right…they do the shows, don’t they? With all the acting and stuff?” He vaguely recalled Mabel talking about them – a group of actors and singers that performed not only in the real world, but also inside Abacus. Their main center of activity was in Cognition, which made sense if Mabel was going to become one of their troop.  
  
Mabel scoffed. “All the _acting_ and _stuff_ , jeepers, Dip, I talk about them, like _all the time!_ And they want _me._ Gosh, I could barely believe it!”

Dipper hummed softly. “I’m happy for you - now you can quit that shitty job at that run down attraction.”  
“Hey! That Shack is Grunkle Stan’s pride and joy,” she admonished as he felt the corner of his mouth jerk up in an almost-smile.

“So, what’re you doin’ for them, anyway?”

“Well, they said they liked my comedy and puppet shows in Cog. I put together a hard drive of one of my old roles to audition for one of the leads in their next show!” She laughed brightly, tapping her hands excitedly against the edge of the table. “Dipper, it’s…it’s like a dream come true.” The warmth in her smile was enough to tell him that.

“I couldn’t be happier for you, Mabe, seriously,” he said, looking back down at his tea and stirring it slowly with the tip of his pinky finger.

“Then why aren’t you smiling?” She asked abruptly.

Dipper paused, looking up at her through his lashes. The expression she wore had shifted from ecstasy to concern. _Damn it._ He swallowed thickly. “Mabel, don’t bring the mood down,” he said, laughing halfheartedly.

 _”You’re_ the Debby Downer, Dipper,” she pointed out. His face soured at the words, but before he could say anything, she continued, “Candy told me, Dipper…about how you freaked out at her.” Her voice had dropped low – soft with worry. Head fallen to stare at her hands, she intertwined her fingers and they fiddled around each other. Dipper said nothing, staring at her. His clenched hands loosened, resting lightly on the table. When she lifted her head, her shoulders tensed, fury igniting in her gaze. “No, Dipper! Don’t you _dare_ try and shut me out.” Her hand slammed hard down on the table, the chair crashing over as she stood up. He saw the intimidation tactic – it was one he’d used enough times.

But this was Mabel. She was forty times as scary as any criminal.

“What do you expect me to do? You don’t understand,” he said bluntly, picking his tea back up and swirling it around. He kept his gaze on the liquid, feeling more than seeing the steam twirl around against his chin.  
  
“I’m not saying that I do, but you’re never going to get any better if you don’t _tell_ someone about it! Why won’t you _tell_ someone about it!?”

“Because I don’t want to, Mabel.”  
  
“It’s been _eight years,_ Dipper. Eight. Years, and we still don’t know _anything._ You think you’re the only one that’s hurting over it? Because you’re _not!_ ”  
  
“You weren’t _there,_ you never _saw_ it!” He could feel his voice starting to quiver. Why did this always have to happen? Why couldn’t she just let it go?  
  
_“But I saw what it did to you, Dipper!”_ Her voice rose higher, wavering in pitch. Dipper fell silent, staring at her with his mouth open. The last thing he wanted to do was make her cry.

“I saw what it _did_ to you, and that was _enough._ You can’t keep doing this to yourself!” Dropping back into her seat, she reached across the coffee covered table to grab onto his arm, her voice desperate this time. “Please stop doing this to yourself.”  
  
Dipper’s jaw worked, staring at the sloshy brown fluid now covering the underside of her arm. His eyes slowly slid shut, trying to gather his thoughts.

There was that color again; the red. Red, red, and more red. It was everywhere. So sickening…sickening. Foul, gross, _repulsive_. He needed to get away from it, _he needed to get away, he needed to, he needed to – he_ had _too._

Mabel’s grip released on him as he scrambled to get away, his breathing turning into a hyperventilating sort of hiccup. Even when his eyes opened, all he could see was the _red._ It dripped down the walls, whispering his name like the pitter patter of rain _‘Dipper, save us, Dipper, help us, Dipper, you’re weak, Dipper, you couldn’t save us, Dipper, Dipper, Dipper,’_ but of course, it _wasn’t_ rain – if only it was, _if only._ He wasted no time in snatching up his satchel and throwing the strap over his shoulder. He knew what he must look like – eyes blown wide and wild, deranged, hair a mess, face a mix of white and green. He heard himself garble out an apology, and then he turned and fled as fast as his feet would carry him.

* * *

 

The first thing he did when he calmed down was send a message to Mabel. Watching the letters tap out on his phone, he heaved a sigh. He was _such_ an idiot. He really shouldn’t have run out on Mabel like that, but she didn’t _get_ it. She couldn’t. He’d heard enough about therapy and doctors and pills from her, but he wasn’t some…some _whack job._ This was just one of those stupid things he had to suffer through alone.

_‘I’m sorry I ran out. We good?’_

He didn’t expect a reply right away – sometimes it was easier to leave Mabel alone to stew and let her send a reply when she was ready.

Toying with the coffee cup on the table, Dipper debated over whether or not he should go back to work early – he still had twenty minutes of his lunch break left, but it wasn’t like criminals stopped working when he did.

Deciding that work was probably the best distraction right now, he drained the last dregs of his coffee and stood up to retrieve the one he’d ordered to go not five minutes before.

_Ah, coffee. Won’t you marry me?_

After sending the staff a brisk nod of thanks, Dipper walked outside briskly and unlocked his car with the little remote. He climbed in, swearing to himself when a little of his drink sloshed out of drink hole in the coffee lid. He dropped the cheap plastic cup into the drink holder and turned the key in the lock. As he did, he pressed his finger against the embedded scanner that opened in the car horn. Abruptly, the car began to rumble softly, dashboard lighting up.

“Dipper Pines. BA, TA, Presidium of Defense, Rank Two. Auto drive,” the mechanical voice of the car system echoed around his head. The car drove itself out of his parking spot, allowing him the benefit of just staring out the window as it drove him back to the PD. The city passed by, blink by blink, and for anyone who didn’t know about the secret underbelly of it, it would have seemed pretty damn normal.

But of course, Dipper wasn’t just anybody. Crime after crime he saw playing out in his mind; the kidnappings, the slavery, the abuse, the drug peddling, the rape, the murders.

The city was stained in that awful vermilion, both literally in some places, but he was 89.74 percent sure that most of it came from his imagination.

What was the definition of red, again?

_Red; adjective, of a color at the end of the spectrum next to orange and opposite violet, as of blood, fire, or rubies._

_Blood._

He could see the red pitter pattering in his vision again, falling onto soft white tiles. The difference was so stark it may as well have been black.

_No no, stop it. Stop it, dumb ass, why think about this, it doesn’t help you._

The car ran down the ramp as the large titanium door pulled up, the symbol for the PD – a raging lion head, snarling on a shield, glistened above the door way. His eyes followed the symbol until it disappeared from view, the shining metallic door closing quickly behind the car. He remembered a time when the symbol had scared him, like when the two detectives had come to question him. Two imposing figures that seemed to roar like the lion despite how quiet they had been in nature.

Dipper couldn’t help but laugh to himself – now _he_ was just like those two detectives that had scared him, back then.

_How depressing._

The car parked itself, the automated voice announcing that the location had been reached. He slid out of the car, satchel over his shoulder, coffee and keys in hand. He slammed the door shut with his foot, pressing the little remote key to lock the doors. A heavy sigh escaped his mouth. Damn. He was so _over_ today.

* * *

 

“Pine Tree, you look like shit.”  
  
Dipper threw Bill a disgruntled look. “Thanks,” he said dryly as he slung his bag over the back of his seat and dropped down into it. Bill swiped the coffee from his hand as he made to sip from it.

“Uh uh, time for some detox, kid, all this caffeine ain’t good for that brilliant little head of yours.”  
  
“Get lost.”  
  
The anger in his tone only made Bill grin. “Ooh, someone’s _crabby_. Something happen on your lunch break? Go on, tell your good friend Bill all about it!” He threw his arm over his shoulder, grinning roguishly.  
  
Letting out an irritable sigh, Dipper snatched his drink back, eyes narrowed into a vicious glare. “Look man, I’ve got work to do and I can’t be assed playing these silly little games with you.”  
  
“Is it _really_ that hard to believe that I’m even _a little bit genuinely into you?”_ Bill stressed, tossing his fingers through Dipper’s hair.

 _“Yes,_ Bill, it is, because you flirt with every scrap of flesh that you meet!” He spit out, smacking his hands away and shrugging his arm off.

“You’d do well not to back talk to your superior, Pine Tree,” Bill retorted with a tight snip to his words.  
  
Dipper just let out a contemptuous scoff.

Finally, Bill pulled a chair over to him and sat down, tone switching to something a little more serious. “So I looked over what you found yesterday, and you’re right. The first scope over we did, we missed a second layer of coding. I talked to our little friend from interrogation and he did a pretty shitty job at hiding the fact he knew about it.”  
“Think that was what he was keeping from us yesterday?”  
  
“No doubt about it. He’s too stupid to build the code himself, but his behavior indicates that he isn’t in on _who_ actually did.”  
  
“It’d have to be something tricky. I mean, it’s not easy to write code that exposes itself under only physical conditions. It’s hard for _me_ to do it, and hacking is my thing, y’know?”  
  
“We definitely need to look more into this. One of our convicts has to know something,” Bill agreed with a hum. Dipper just nodded slowly.

“I’ll look over my notes again, maybe dig around in Recondite for some information and get back to you.”  
  
Bill stood, kicking the chair back to the desk it had come from. “And you’re sure you aren’t up for that date?” When Dipper didn’t reply, Bill tutted. “You wait, kid. One of these days…” He didn’t finish his sentence as he walked across the glowing tiles up to his office.

Dipper only relaxed when the glass doors closed behind him.

* * *

 

As it turned out, Mabel’s job didn’t only consist of a job inside Cognition (which was great, because he had a feeling too many bright things might have burned his eyes out in the current overly sleep-deprived state he was in), but also _actual_ shows as well. Her first show happened to be late night on a Saturday, which was perfect for him, since Sunday was his only day off (and the only day he turned off his phone so Bill couldn’t bug him), and since it was a cabaret bar, he was more than happy to down a few drinks along with the show. Legally, he wasn’t actually allowed to buy his own alcohol, but that had never stopped Grunkle Stan from shouting him a few shots of whiskey or a few bottles of beer.

The old man slapped his back from where they sat at one of the tables in front of the stage Mabel and her ‘co-stars’, as she affectionately called them, would be performing on. He choked on his beer, feeling it fizz up his nose and making his sneeze.

“Manly sneeze you got their kid."  
  
“Oh, shut your trap, you old fart,” Dipper grumbled, rubbing at his nose against the strange fizzing sensation. His great uncle chuckled, swallowing a shot of whiskey. “That’s the good stuff,” he said with a loud, relaxed sigh.

“Good day of ripping of rubes, I see,” Dipper mumbled into his drink. Grunkle Stan was really only in such good spirits when he’d cashed in a big load. He wondered if it had been a good turn in from _Abacus_ or from the Shack.

“Damn straight,” he said gruffly, scratching the stubble on his stern chin. “Didn’t even know what hit ‘em.”

Dipper smiled a little, looking around him cautiously. There was a bit of a crowd in the cabaret bar. He’d never been here before. ‘ _Star’s,’_ just one of the many entertainment businesses owned by Star Enterprises, was not a place he’d ever really considered attending before, so he didn’t know whether or not this many people was a common occurrence or not. He assumed it was, if the bar’s reputation was anything to go by. Realistically, he knew that he was fine here, and that the chance of an attack happening tonight was relatively low. Even so, his mind carefully worked out who the most probable attackers could be, should they already be inside the building, the most obvious or best attack positions, and the easiest escape routes.

He needed to stop thinking about this, he knew. He wouldn’t be able to enjoy himself otherwise, so he turned his eyes towards the stage instead.

The red – _god_ , why did it have to be red? – curtain hung heavily from the rafters it was supported on. He could see it before his eyes; how one day, it would snap and break, see the people crushed underneath it; dead or broken, or- _don’t even start. Don’t think about that crap here, this is Mabel’s night. Let her have this._

“So uh…how’re things goin’ at work?” Grunkle Stan ventured. Dipper slowly turned his head to look at him. He knew he wasn’t really asking how things were – more like if his name had come up recently.

“Y’know, I went to clear your name off our servers the other day and it had already been deleted. Chiu’s name was written all over it, I’m telling you,” he said with a light laugh, rubbing the back of his neck.

“See, now _she’s_ a keeper. I like her,” he said with a hard nod. “Ever get yourself a nice girl or guy hangin’ off your arm, make sure it’s someone like her, eh?”

“Heh…yeah,” Dipper said lamely, feeling his cheeks heating up.

Grunkle Stan fiddled with the empty whiskey shot, setting it aside. “You are okay, aren’t you kid?”

“Yeah, Grunkle Stan. I’m okay.”

“Just okay?”  
  
“Just okay.” Dipper was more confused than anything else. Since when did Grunkle Stan try to have heart to hearts with him? He could tell the old man was as uncomfortable as he was, which really left only one conclusion.

“I mean, Dipper, if you need-”

“You don’t have to do this because Mabel put you up to it, Grunkle Stan,” Dipper interrupted. “Especially not tonight. I know she’s worried about me, but when _isn’t_ she? This is her night. Don’t let her make it about me.”

“Kid, you look like you haven’t slept in a week,” Grunkle Stan pointed out.  
  
“Three days,” Dipper replied. “And that’s why you’re buying all my drinks for me; so I can get hammered after Mabel’s show and get a good night’s sleep.” He read it on Stan’s face – _that’s not how you deal with your problems_ , but he never said anything. This was more Mabel’s territory, they both knew, and if she couldn’t get through to him about it without them bickering, Stan certainly wasn’t going to.

Forcing the conversation away from the topic at hand, Grunkle Stan moved it back to Mabel’s performance. “So, the brat up and quits on me one day,” he said, not nastily, “and then comes to practice here for the rest of the week? What’s she even gonna be doin’ on stage?”  
  
“I’d say she’s just got a small role – maybe a line or two, like an extra, just to get her used to acting on stage.”  
  
“You think she’ll be alright?”  
  
“She wrote an entire opera-themed puppet show in one week, Grunkle Stan,” he reminded. “Complete with live pyrotechnics.”

“…good point.”

The lights in the cabaret bar suddenly dimmed, the ones on the stage lighting up, and the other guests around them slowly quietened down. The curtains rippled, and from the center, a not-quite-an-adult teen stepped from behind them, dressed in a pressed blue suit, with a little American Flag pinned to the lapel. He was abnormally short, and only from looking at his piggish face was he able to tell that he must have been pretty late into his teens – seventeen, eighteen, perhaps. But that wasn’t what had gained his attention. He didn’t think that was what had caught _anyone’s_ attention, because the huge head of white hair was certainly hard to miss.

“Ladies and gentlemen!” The host began, his voice heavily accented – from the United States, for sure, but not from the city. Probably from the South. “Mah name is Gideon, and I’d like ta cordially welcome ya’ll to our first show of the summer season! Please, make yourself at home here, and have a wonderful evenin’!”

Dipper flinched at the thunderous clapping that exploded around him, the audience excited for the show to start. Even though he wanted to clap himself, his hands stayed still around his glass, eyes not wavering from the young man on stage.

He didn’t know what it was.

He didn’t know if it was logical.

He didn’t even know if it was his imagination or not, but there was something coiling in his chest, a snake raising itself for a defensive strike. He felt his grip tighten around the glass, heard it crack beneath his hold.

Something he couldn’t explain – something he could just _feel_ , told him to be wary of him.

He didn’t sit right for the rest of the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Read and review guys, or shoot me a message on tumblr - filthymallards.tumblr.com  
> We're going to be getting into the meat of the plot soon!


	5. Necrophobia

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Abacus – The internet that is operated through.
> 
> Cognition – One side of Abacus
> 
> Expedient – One side of Abacus
> 
> Recondite – One side of Abacus
> 
> Awake – Not in Abacus (different to legitimately being awake. Capitalization is key.)
> 
> Asleep – In Abacus (different to legitimately being asleep. Capitalization is key.)
> 
> PD – Presidium of Defense (Like the CIA/FBI)
> 
> BA – Behavioral Analyst
> 
> TA – Technical Advisory (AKA Hacker)
> 
> Disclaimer: I don't own Gravity Falls.

Dipper groaned angrily as he pulled the pillow down over his head, alarm clock blaring at him from across the room. He could _not_ put up with that thing today.

 _“Shuuuuut uuuuuup!”_ He groaned in the screeching machines direction. Right then, he decided his alarm had become sentient, because he was _pretty damn sure_ that the screeching noise had just gotten louder.

Dipper let out a furious hiss, sitting bolt up in his bed. A second later he was doubled over and clutching at the sides of his head. It was like someone was knocking on the side of his head with a hammer – like they’d been doing it for the past millennium and a half.

He shouldn’t have drank so much last night

With a sour swear, he slid out of the bed. The wood was warm under his feet, so someone – he guessed Mabel – had probably turned on the floor heating before leaving. He scarcely remembered going to bed, and if that little fact didn’t prove how absolutely shit-faced he got last night, the carnage around his room certainly did.

Dipper wasn’t the... _tidiest_ of drunks, in fact he would go as far as to say he was an absolutely _chaotic_ drunk. Usually, Grunkle Stan was pretty good at keeping him under control, but last night must have been insane.

There was a trail of broken objects littered around his bedroom – ripped up shirts, stretched out ties, glass pieces from the smashed up mirror hanging lopsidedly on the wall. From the glass still left along the sides of the mirror he saw the way his hair was pushed up against his head, messy and a little oily. His eyes were squinty and small from sleep, so he rubbed at his face to wake himself up. He was still wearing what he’d worn to the cabaret bar, though now his pants were full of creases, shirt untucked and rumpled. Dipper made an agitated noise at the back of his throat, face tight with anger as his eyes dragged down to look at his hands. Mabel had to have bandaged them before she’d left, judging by the soft gauze wrapped around his hands and over bloodied and sore knuckles.

_Another fight?_

He sighed. He didn’t know. He certainly hoped not…he didn’t want to be tied to the roof while Bill, Candy, and Grenda went drag racing again.

 _‘Punishment, Pine Tree, punishment’_ he heard Bill say in the back of his head. His hands curled into fists.

The alarm clock continued to shrill at him incessantly, drilling itself in his head with the hammer. Dipper grit his teeth, spinning around and slamming his fist down against the top of it. _“I’m awake!”_ He spat at the now silenced machine. “Jesus Christ, why did I even _buy you?”_ He swept it off the table and let it fall to the ground with a _thwack._ For good measure, he grabbed a shoe from the floor and hit at the alarm until it was in pieces.

_Damn it. Today’s jobs; new alarm._

Stomping his way into the kitchen, he found that it, at least, had been spared from the mess aside from a pot or two. Eyeing a little black pan on the ground, he debated on just giving it all to Mabel or Pacifica, or even _Bill._ It wasn’t like he cooked anything, anyway.

He got out a coffee cup, placing it under a slim silver tap labelled ‘coffee’. “You know what to do,” he said with a yawn. A red button on the tap switched green, and there was a small whirring noise. A brown liquid spurted into the cup, hot and steaming. He inhaled the smell of caffeine, then inhaled the whole drink a second later. Cracking his back, Dipper decided that _one:_ he stunk to the high heavens, and _two:_ it was time for a shower.

* * *

 

_Gideon._

There were, of course, plenty of ‘Gideon’s’ in the criminal database. Gideon Pinkerton had slaughtered twenty-seven people with a katana blade in a mass murder two years ago, and was currently sitting on death row. Gideon Manx was on the run for drug pedaling – rumored to be hiding out in Puerto Rico. He wasn’t exactly high on their ‘to be caught’ list. But no Gideon Star.

 _Star._ The name felt weird on is tongue.

In truth, he was far out of the loop when it came to anything and everything revolving around modern economics and socialite gossip, but according to the articles he’d read, Gideon Star, age nineteen, was a powerful young entertainer and entrepreneur who had founded much of the now widespread ‘Star Enterprises’ after receiving a large loan from his father during his mid-teenage years. From there, he’d invested in several successful companies and because of mergers and foreclosures of other businesses, he’d been quick to climb to the top of the food chain. _Abacus_ , of course, was a bounty of information, but even spending an hour in Cognition hurt his head. Someone like Candy or Bill would do much better in scoping around for information.

Dipper pushed back on his seat, bending his head back over the seat and letting out a frustrated groan. He ran his hands down his face, staring at the walls as they flickered with a ‘Gideon West’s’ criminal history – a robbery or two. Nothing noteworthy. His head snapped back up with a painful crack as the door to the upstairs office slammed shut and Bill walked out humming. “Howdy, Pine Tree!”

“Ah, crap,” he muttered, rubbing his neck. “Bill, I didn’t realize you were here today…”

“I was about to ask you the same question,” his boss retorted. “You never come in over weekends - by the way, the whole ‘wrung through the dryer’ look _reeeeeeeally_ doesn’t suit you, kid.”

Face setting into a grimace, he said, “I had a…few too many last night,” he admitted regretfully.

Bill’s eyebrows rose, looking amused. He leaned against Dipper’s chair, pushing it towards his desk again so his chest was snug against the edge of the table. “So…whatcha doin’?” He eyed the article on the large screen. “Gideon, eh? Gotta wee celeb crush, hm?”  
  
Dipper jolted up like he’d been shocked. “What?! NO! That’s…that’s... _ew no!_ I have…I have standards, Bill!” He gasped out, cheeks reddening.

His boss laughed, voice full of mirth. “Hm, good t’ know! So - what’re you lookin’ at anyway?”

Dipper’s fingers twitched slightly, and he swiped his hand over the screen to clear it back to the home screen. Bill eyed the changing images of Mabel, Stan, and himself with a quiet, thoughtful air. His head tipped to the side. “She hasn’t brought any cupcakes around lately.” He said morosely, lip poked out like he might start bubbling.

“Uhm…yeah,” Dipper replied awkwardly. “It’s nothing, honest. Just, my sister started working at this cabaret bar recently, and Gideon was there. Just checking him out was all.”  
Bill looked vaguely surprised. “Oh, really?” He said. “I’d heard rumors that he worked with new recruits to his acting troops, but I thought that was all just gossip.”  
  
“Oh. I uhm…guess that’s cool,” he replied lamely. His shoulders tensed when he felt Bill’s arms rest crossed over his shoulders. The blonde’s chin dropped on his arms so they were practically cheek to cheek.

“This is really unprofessional,” he squawked out, eyes darting around, trying to find something to hold Bill’s interest, to take it away from him.

“Pfft. You’re not even meant to be working today. _In fact,_ I was just about to clock off. What says we go out for some drinks and we can discuss you’re new pal Gideon some more.” He shivered against the light touch of fingers against the side of his neck before they pulled away. “Kay?”  
  
“Well, actually, Bill, I’d really prefer to just stay here and keep – ack! Hey, let me go!” He wriggled against Bill’s grip as he grabbed his arm, pulling him from his seat.

“Aw come on, Pine Tree, just one drink – beer, coffee, rum, you name it!”

Dipper’s face screwed up hard at the very mention of liquor. “Oh _god, no alcohol.”_  
  
“So coffee it is!” Bill laughed, eyes alight with burning amber as he hooked his arm through Dipper’s, a triumphant skip in his step.

* * *

 

A large disposable coffee cup slid over the table towards him, the smell of warm mocha filling his nose.

“Thanks, Bill,” he murmured, sliding the cup closer to him and taking a slow sip. He felt the way his body accepted the caffeine, his eyes falling shut as he enjoyed the taste. It scorched down his windpipe, hot and strong. Just the way he liked it.

“No problem, Pine Tree,” his boss replied cheerfully. His eyes opened as the blonde flopped down on the seat opposite him, feet on the table. Bill looked quite content in the little coffee house. Dipper guessed it was a place he frequented quite regularly, though he himself had never even seen - which was surprising in and of itself, considering his predisposition towards anything and everything coffee related. The upholstery on the couches were swathed in leathery black. He felt like any minute the chair was going to swallow him whole (which, if he was honest with himself, was almost a preferable option right now). The whole coffee shop smelt like roasted coffee beans. Dipper found himself breathing in more deeply, savoring the delectability of the scents. He wanted his apartment to smell like this.

Bill took a long gulp from his own cup, eyes wicked with glee. “ _So._ Gideon Star, eh?”

Dipper glanced up at him through his lashes, blinking through his shock. “Wait, you didn’t just bring me here to flirt with me?”

“Contrary to popular belief, Pine Tree, I do care about the well being of my subordinates – particularly the ones I’m…” Bill paused for a moment. “… _interested_ in.”

“Oh.”  
  
The blonde rolled his eyes. “So, if something is bothering you, PT, I’ll listen. Don’t care how stupid it is, because you’re a stupid person anyway. I’m sure I’ve seen the worst of your idiocy by now.”

“You know, for someone who continuously acts like they want to get in my pants, you sure have a funny way of showing it,” Dipper said dryly, swallowing a mouthful of coffee. “And don’t call me PT.”

Bill popped the cap off of his cup, dunking his pinkie in the froth at the top of his drink and spinning his finger through it. “You say your sister recently got a job for Star Enterprises,” he stated. “But you don’t trust this Gideon fella?”

“My instincts have always been pretty accurate…I don’t see why they’d fail me now.”  
  
Finger in his mouth, Bill watched Dipper’s face silently for a while. Dipper watched the way he pushed his pinkie from one side of the cheek to the other. Finally, he gave a nonchalant shrug. “Well,” he mused, finger pulling out from between his lips with a loud _pop_ , “There’s a reason you’re good at your job. If you think he looks like trouble, he probably is.”  
  
He knew what Bill was trying to say without him even having to actually say it. Even though he had these feelings, there was nothing he could do about it – Gideon’s name wasn’t in any of the records, other than for birth records and vaccinations. No Gideon Star in the criminal database. That was for sure.

“So what do I do then?” He asked, eyes desperately searching Bill’s relaxed face.

“…I would suggest starting by talking to Mabel,” he replied. “She has a right to be privy to your suspicions.”  
  
“She’ll just think I’m paranoid-”

“You _are_ paranoid, Pine Tree, it’s one of the reasons you’re on my team. You’re suspicion lets you think with your head. If you were empathetic all the time, you’d never get the job done. Never mind the fact that blood makes you sick-”

Dipper’s head turned away from Bill, going a little green.

“-you still get over it to get the job done. Someone so sympathetic could never do that. So who gives a damn if you’re a distrustful little shit? You have plenty of reason to be.”  
Staring at Bill, he realized just how genuinely he thought this. He felt heat grow across his cheeks in response to the praise, and when his strong fingers slid through oddly delicate ones, his whole hand suddenly felt as if it was on fire. When had he reached forward to take Bill’s hand?

Dipper smiled slightly, eyes not breaking from the blondes. “…thanks, Bill,” he murmured softly. His eyes followed a soft pink tongue darting out from his boss’s mouth to wet his lip.

Only when Bill started to lean forward, saying something else that Dipper couldn’t quite hear because there was blood rushing in his ears and _what the hell, no. No no no. Absolutely not. Hormones,_ down, _down down down._

Before he was even realizing what he was doing, he was up on his feet, expression twisted. He could feel the beet red blush that went from forehead all the way down to his neck. “GottagojustforgotIhadtogodosomethingBYE!” He blurted out, pivoting so fast on his heels he almost tumbled straight backwards into Bill, which would have only made this situation _infinitely worse._

Only when he was halfway out the door did he realize that he was making a habit of running away from his problems.

It wasn’t a solution that was going to work for much longer.

* * *

 

Dipper dropped down into the chair at his computer as soon as he got him. It was nothing compared to what he had at work, but he made do. The old seat creaked under his weight, and not for the first time he debated with himself over getting a new one. In the end, he settled on the same answer again – he could pinch one of Mabel’s plainer ones (she had a surplus after all, and it wasn’t like he hadn’t nicked things from her cottage before).

He shuffled old papers off of his desk, some stained with the odd coffee stain, and pulled the glasses on from his personal _Abacus_ device. The plugs went next, the corner of his lip jumping as pins pricked into his ears as they latched on. Finally, he pushed his hands to the handprints, watching the silver words glow onto the screen before vanishing again, along with his consciousness.

His eyes opened to his home base not much later.

 _Name: Undefined._  
  
_Home Base: Recondite._

 _Best Friend: PinkFluff._  
  
_Gifts: (2) Gleeful._

_Hours Played: Undefined._

_Status: Asleep._

His eyes fell on the gift menu, a frown pulling at his lips. _Gleeful?_ Vaguely, he felt a stirring in his gut, felt the way confusion and wariness wormed its way inside of him like an unwanted parasite. Someone was good at hacking – _seriously_ good. Presidium official’s accounts were private, since they were usually used for work purposes. It wasn’t like they could run around solving crimes with their name blatantly spelled out for anyone to find; hence his own name label. When he’d first created his account, he hadn’t gotten to pick a name. It changed with every customer and case he took on. Only specified individuals, people like Mabel, who’d been allowed into his own system with some careful tampering, and the other members of the Cyber Unit knew how to get to his base.

So it was with some trepidation that he clicked open the gift menu.

There was only a hushed attitude to the message for some time, a stint that Dipper spent with his brows furrowed in complete and utter confusion. He could hear a faint static in the background, the occasional murmuring of indistinct voices and the shuffling of footsteps.

And then a song started playing, and he felt even more lost than earlier.

_“Oranges and lemons, says the bells of St. Clement’s._

_You owe me five farthing, says the bells of St. Martins.”_

The singer was definitely female, with a voice that was so delicate and light that at first he thought it belonged to a child. The more he listened, the clearer it became that the vocalist was in fact a woman.

_“When will you pay me? Says the bells of Old Bailey._

_When I grow rich, says the bells of Shoreditch.”_

With a jarred reminder, Dipper abruptly recognized the song as a nursery rhyme – Oranges and Lemons. One he’d learned in elementary school. The piano was just out of key enough that he picked up on it. The notes ran just a tad too high, shrilling just a pitch too much. He felt like he was driving into the uncanny valley. He was all but ready for cheap horror movie dolls to burst into his face, ceramic faces peppered with insane smiles, rosy cheeks not rose – crimson.

_“When will that be? Says the bells of Stepney._

_I do not know, say the great bells of Bow.”_

Dipper pressed the stop button on the message, but it didn’t stop – it didn’t stop, and at the edges of his home base he could see pixels flickering, changing from their plain white to a grainy sort of image, vintage, like someone had taken a photo of a photo.

 _“Here comes a candle to light you to bed,”_  
  
He was going to be sick. He could hear the rasping from his own throat, the hammering of his heart, the tightness in his skull. Dipper fell flat on his ass, eyes bloomed wide with a terror he hadn’t felt in eight years.

_“Here comes a chopper to chop off your head.”_

Oh _god_ , what new torture was this?

Eyes. Eyes he’d never thought he’d ever see again, staring with no clarity up at nothing. Heads completely unattached from the bodies they belonged too – and the fear written across their faces only made him want to vomit.

And despite himself, despite the woman’s soft voice repeating _“chip chop chip chop,”_ over and over again, even though he knew it should have finished by now, he crawled forward on his hands and knees, dragging his hiccuping body to the photo blaring at him on the wall. His hand, quaking like something that had jumped straight off of the Richter scale, reached out to touch the image.

“ _Mom_?” He whispered, voice raw and scratchy, feeling wet hot tears crowding in his eyes. She should have been smiling. She should have been laughing. " _Dad_?" He should have had a look of pride on his face, warmth shining in brown eyes.

His hands clenched against the wall, head pressing up to the photo as his eyes clenched shut tight.

The scream that released from his throat was drowned out by the sudden rise in voice of the singer.

_“Chip chop chip chop – the last man’s dead.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really enjoyed writing this chapter - quite a bit happening to progress the storyline!


End file.
